Home for the Holidays
by Rendered Reversed
Summary: !Side Story to Equilibrium! In which Harry decides to spend his Christmas holiday online as Scarred, Tom joins him as Voldemort, and whoever's great idea it was to have a mistletoe event needs to be blessed. Oneshot; TMR/HP SLASH


**Warnings:** Alternate Universe - No Magic, Virtual Reality, Established ambiguous relationship, SIDE STORY X-MAS SPECIAL TO _EQUILIBRIUM_

 **Pairing** : TMR/HP (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter; IGNs: "Voldemort"/"Scarred")

 **Summary:** Harry never had anyone to spend Christmas Eve with before.

In which Harry decides to spend his Christmas holiday online as Scarred, Tom joins him as Voldemort, and whoever's great idea it was to have a mistletoe event needs to be blessed.

 **Disclaimer** : Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling

* * *

They shouldn't be here.

The landscape was painted white, blurring with frozen mist and falling snow, and though it was beautiful—majestic, glorious, silent and lonely as nature was—Scarred knew this was the worst possible position to be in. Out in the open where anyone could see them; there were no places to run and no trees to hide behind. It was a desert of ice, stretching for miles on end.

Well, in the _other_ direction. Just opposite to the rolling fields of snow was a large walled city. This was Fortuna Major, the capital of Lumos Kingdom and home to the main Church of Gryffindor. It was also a place that Scarred had called home for the majority of the previous year, though now he was a wanted man within its walls.

Fortuna Major, as usual, was a beacon of light in the frozen tundras. At the very top of the Church steeple was a shining mana crystal that emitted a glow that could be seen kilometers away. It called to lost wanderers, travelers with no place to go, and upon arriving at the gates they would be greeted by the guardsmen and a hot cup of tea on this particular night.

It was, after all, Christmas Eve, and everyone from the NPCs to the players exuded a kind of merriment that was unique to the holiday season. Though, even _he_ wouldn't be welcome there as it was—Scarred, the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor, had lost his place in their festivities ever since his desertion.

Still a part of him longed for it. He'd never celebrated Christmas outside of the game—his very first had been within the confines of Witches and Wizards, surrounded by bustling players and costumed NPCs. Now, however, he was ostracized in both lives: virtual and reality, neither one accepted him into their celebrations.

They shouldn't be here. It was too dangerous, and they couldn't afford to be caught and apprehended. They didn't have the _time_ for that. And even though Scarred was the one who knew this keenly in his heart, he still traveled back to his old home from the high level wastelands they'd been living in. Just for a moment upon the horizon, he wanted to see the blinking green and red lights, the sound of Christmas carols fading in and out of the wind…

Beside him, the warmth of his partner was a reassuring presence. Voldemort hadn't said anything when he'd declared he wanted to go back into the lion's den. He merely nodded, as if he'd expected it (and Scarred didn't doubt that he did), and then they'd went.

"You want to go?" the necromancer asked.

There was no hesitation when Scarred shook his head. "We can't."

"We could probably last a few minutes."

"It's not worth it."

"Are you certain?"

Scarred paused. "…Yeah," he mumbled, "I'm sure."

Voldemort sighed. He turned and pulled the bishop to him, wrapping his cloak around them both. Surprisingly enough, Voldemort was more resistant to ice and fire than Scarred, which showed in how much warmer he was.

Scarred _did_ have the capabilities to make them even warmer—the amount of buffs he had mastered would make any player pale in fright at the stats page—but he did not. Sometimes, body heat was the only true warmth of it all, and if Voldemort was offering, then he certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Their guards will be lowered because of the hols," the necromancer remarked.

"Voldemort, we are _not_ infiltrating the Gryffindor capital _just_ to see a couple of light shows." Scarred huffed. "Besides, _I_ was the one who directed them last year. Why go see them when I could probably do it myself?"

" _You_ were the one who wanted to come here, need I remind. There are a lot of other cities with poorer defenses we could spend the night in."

Despite it being the issue at hand, Scarred still felt a bit of pride at that one. _He_ had been the one to renovate much of the defense system, after all. It had made Fortuna Major one of the most formidable fortresses on the continent. It was actually one of the reasons why they could be so close to the city—being the one who designed the wards, Scarred knew exactly where the loopholes were.

"I don't want to," he muttered.

"Spend the night in another town?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I know I'm being selfish, but—"

"It's fine. I'm used to it—necromancer, remember? We don't spend much time among crowds."

"…Ah."

Scarred shifted. He'd temporarily enchanted their footwear—forcing his partner to put on his rarely-used boots—to allow them to walk upon the snow without sinking in. Still, standing in one place for too long without _actual_ snow shoes was not a good idea. When a particularly strong gust of wind pushed them from behind, Scarred helped it along by nudging his partner.

"Let's go."

"Where to?"

Voldemort was more familiar with Slytherin territory. He wouldn't know any good spots to go to in the North. Scarred took a moment to think.

Some place warm, secluded, and easy on the eyes. Only a local would know the best spots that _weren't_ tourist traps. The first place that came to mind was his starter town, Little Hippogriff, as deep in the forest surrounding it was a Tree of Ages that would definitely check all three requirements. However, he didn't want to go there—he'd be too tempted to check in on all his friends, like Hagrid and Sirius and all the other NPCs.

Still, the more he thought about it, the more he liked spending Christmas Eve beneath the boughs of a Tree of Ages. It was a tree that had long since been influenced by a primordial mana crystal, one of the accessible sources of mana in Witches and Wizards, causing it to grow to extreme proportions. The aura it exuded always kept the immediate area around it warm and comfortable, even during a blizzard.

An added benefit of making camp beneath a Tree of Ages was the neutrality clause caused by its presence. Monsters in the immediate vicinity became non-aggressive, which was nice because Scarred didn't really want to deal with those right now.

He knew the location of another relatively nearby Tree of Ages. It was located in a high level area, though that was no problem considering both he and Voldemort were both high level players. Since it wasn't exactly good for training—far too troublesome with the types of monsters there—it should be devoid of people, especially since Tree of Ages weren't well known.

"The Crystal Forest," Scarred decided. "We'll go there."

* * *

The Crystal Forest was located on the fringes of Gryffindor territory. It wasn't exactly a walk to get there—Voldemort's teleportation skill proved its worth—but at least it wasn't across the continent. The dungeon was home to elves, pixies, and sprites of the North, all users of ice and wind magic.

The most difficult monsters to deal with in Witches and Wizards were flying magic users that could debuff and charm…which was exactly what the monsters of Crystal Forest were capable of. Thus, it was not a popular training spot—ice magic being one of the most annoying types to deal with as it slowed, froze, and lowered fatigue significantly while dealing damage over time.

Still, it was a sight that any tourist would be envious to see. The Crystal Forest got its name from its trees, all made of crystal of varying opacities. There were also crystals that stuck up from the ground, quartz and other gemstones all white and shining. The thin layer of frost that clung to the trees made it look like a painting, brush strokes layered in the ice.

Neither Scarred nor Voldemort found the monsters troublesome. Scarred, with his light magic, could nullify the damage over time dealt due to the environment. He also had buffs that kept their fatigue from exponentially increasing, and his shielding magic stopped any long range attacks from hitting them.

Voldemort, as a necromancer, needed corpses to animate in order to maximize efficiency, but since they weren't clearing the dungeon—rather just walking through it to their destination—a few summons and curses were able to deal with it quite nicely. He and his partner were both higher level than the monsters around them, and the plentiful amount of magic resistance they had made walking through a breeze.

If any damage was actually dealt to them, Scarred could heal them up anyway. Bishops were useful like that.

As said bishop knew exactly where to go, it didn't take long to arrive. The Tree of Ages towered above the other trees, and despite its seeming imperviousness to the cold, its leaves were stark white like they had been dipped into a bath of powdered sugar. Upon closer inspection, the leaves actually looked like glass, smooth to the touch and fragile. The glow they exuded was like a miniature hearth; Scarred imagined them as white hot coals, the trunk of the tree the fireplace, the mana that saturated the roots to the very air a crackling fire.

He breathed in. The scent was cold, but it was a fresh one that contrasted with the warmth that caressed his robes and skin.

"A Tree of Ages, huh?" Voldemort said, reading the window that had popped up upon their arrival. Scarred had seen it so many times he had closed it on instinct; all it said was a small description, along with the stats that the aura buffed them by.

"I haven't taken you to one before?"

"No," his partner said. "You spoke of them though."

Scarred laughed. "Ah, yes. If you manage to figure out how to harvest some wood, make me a scabbard too, okay?"

"Perhaps."

"How mean…"

They settled. As they were both mages— _technically_ —their armor consisted of robes instead of metal, which was considerably easier to sit and rest in. However, Scarred still preferred to divest himself of his gear, storing it in his inventory, while Voldemort did the same. They stripped down to their more casual wear—a tunic and trousers for the bishop, a plain dark robe for his necromancer.

Scarred took a glance at his partner's feet. They were bare again.

"You…don't have anything to do tonight?"

Sometimes it was difficult to remember, but the fact remained: Witches and Wizards was a virtual reality game, and all the players had other things to attend to in real life. This was especially true for the holidays, though many used the game to meet with their distant friends, family, and lovers. As a virtual reality game, Witches and Wizards boasted a solid eleven out of ten rating for aesthetically pleasing. Many took vacations in-game instead of in real life to save money for the same experience.

Still, for others there were still real life events to attend to. As time in-game moved faster by a rate of four to one, Christmas Eve—and consequentially, Christmas—took place over the span of four days in game to correspond to the one day in real life. Some players spent a bit of time in game, then the rest in real life, while for others it was the reverse.

For Scarred, virtual reality was a large part of his life. In fact, it _was_ another life for him; one where he wasn't Harry Potter, but the bishop Scarred. He didn't have any close friends in real life, so spending his holiday break in game seemed only fitting.

"Don't you?" Voldemort parroted. It wasn't harsh, merely curious, so Scarred replied in much the same way.

"No. Not really."

His partner hummed. "I don't, either. The people whom I would've celebrated with are gone."

Scarred leaned over, letting his head fall on Voldemort's clothed shoulder. It was generally impolite to directly ask about the goings of reality—they were, after all, playing a role and living another life in the game. However, that didn't make the connection between players any less.

He may not know his partner's birth name, may not know where he lived or what job he had, but he knew the player of Voldemort as well as he knew himself. Here, connected by a server and code, he'd met his best friend.

"Who were they?" he asked softly.

Voldemort didn't hesitate in his answer. "My adopted parents. Though, their age was closer to grandparents in that respect. For some reason, one of them _adored_ the holiday season, and the other was roped into celebrating along with him."

"Did they put up lights?"

"Hmm, oh yes. All up around the house, with mistletoes guarding every entrance. When I was younger I tried to sneak past them, but at least one of them would catch me in the act. As an apology they liked to give me a cup of hot chocolate, with peppermint candy melting inside instead of marshmallows. To be honest, I didn't actually mind—" Voldemort paused. "They were good to me. I am inordinately glad I had them."

Scarred reached over and squeezed his hand. "They must've spoiled you rotten," he said, teasing. "Were you an only child? You act like you were an only child."

"And whatever do you mean by that? But yes. I was their only child. I was quite the handful."

"And probably a very jealous one."

"I won't deny that." Voldemort snorted. "And you? How did you spend your Christmas?"

Scarred decided not to tell his partner about the childhood he'd had. Instead, he replied, "The first Christmas I had was when I was High Priest of Gryffindor. They made me help plan the whole thing, and…"

He told Voldemort about the famous Gryffindor light shows—how they looked like the Northern Lights, how they burst constellations in the sky. He told him about the annual sword dance competition, the performances put on, the way the crowds would push up among each other with grins and smiles and cheers. He told him about the giant tree in the center square, how merchants looked like harpies waiting for their next meal, how the city tried to raise money throughout the whole year in order to give free gifts to its residents.

He told Voldemort how he and the Arch Bishop of Gryffindor walked along the streets, going from district to district to give their blessings and the giant party that preceded it. There was a giant bonfire, food and laughter, prayers sent to the night sky as they sacrificed items to the Mother Goddess. Snow would be gathered and they'd have a snow sculpture competition, and he'd made a spell that temporarily animated them…

They would all fly to the giant Christmas tree, decorated with tinsel and shiny trinkets—players tied their own items on it, too; monster drops and pieces of their old equipment while making a wish. The snow sculptures would fly around—dusting everyone with ice dust—and the winner would take the handcrafted star to the very top. Then there would be more drink and feasts and dance as Christmas Eve broke to Christmas morning.

"Now that I think about it, the Arch Bishop is probably having a tough time doing everything himself," Scarred mused. He'd gotten really into the holiday spirit once he'd started, and so everything had received an upgrade during his planning. Perhaps the Arch Bishop reverted to the old ways without the Head Priest there to help him…

"Scarred."

"Hm?"

Voldemort pointed above their heads. "Mistletoe."

"Huh—when did that— _oh_. I forgot all about that event!" the bishop groaned. It was an event specifically for the month of December. Mistletoes would appear at random, generated above any two players' heads if they were close enough, and it would only be dispelled with a kiss between those two players.

Dispelling the mistletoe would grant the two an item box, one each, which had a chance of giving one of twelve special holiday-themed items. Because they were so rare, they sold for a decent amount on the market. Currently, the most popular were the Reindeer Headband and Saint Velvet Dress, which female players all prayed to get.

Really. It was just a kiss. Scarred huffed, lifting his head off his companion's shoulder in order to get a better angle. Voldemort, he mentally noted, with his snake-like avatar, red eyes and deathly aura really was someone to look at—for all the wrong reasons. But he'd long grown immune to the aura necromancers emitted, and actually Voldemort's bone structure was _heavenly_ —

At the last moment, Scarred lifted himself up and pressed a kiss to Voldemort's bare forehead instead, dispelling the mistletoe.

"Tease," he heard the necromancer mutter under his breath. Scarred laughed.

"Don't be bitter," he teased, "We've got the entire night. Ah, unless you have something to…?"

"I wouldn't be online if I had something to do," Voldemort replied.

Scarred beamed. "Brilliant, because I'd love to spend Christmas Eve with you, too. Oh! The boxes are here! Should we wait for Christmas, or…?"

Voldemort scoffed. "As if you had the patience to wait," he grumbled before tugging at one of the red bow tails. The box opened on its own after the ribbon was undone, revealing a fluffy Santa Hat item.

"Hey, you got one! Congrats," Scarred said.

Voldemort took it. Instead of putting it in his inventory, he turned to Scarred and put it on him, tugging it all the way down to cover his eyes. "Red's your color, not mine."

Scarred clicked his tongue. "Really? I think it would match your eyes," he said, even as he grinned and pushed up the fur to see again. "The Unholy Dark Lord, leader of a thousand strong corpse army…going into battle with a Santa Hat. I think it'd look fantastic."

"I think it suits the Legendary Berserker better. Admit it—you actually miss that god awful red cape of yours."

"Hey, that 'god awful red cape' had _godly_ stats!"

"Dyed in the blood of your enemies."

Scarred sniffed. "It was fashionable," he argued, ignoring the reply of ' _on an ogre, maybe,_ ' in favor of opening his own mistletoe box.

The ribbon came undone. The box opened.

"Oh lord," he muttered. Then, Scarred _giggled_. "Hey, green's your color, right?"

"Scarred, don't you _dare_ —"

"An Elf Hat!" He laughed, putting it on Voldemort before the player could stop him. "I think it's cute. Keep it on, _please_?"

"…The things I do for you."

Scarred laughed again. He flicked the golden bell tassel, hearing it jingle and snickering when Voldemort's face wrinkled at the sound. "I think it suits you," he mock-whispered.

"Cheeky." Voldemort sulked, but he didn't take it off.

"No, really. The red matches your eyes, and green's your favorite color, so—"

"Shut up."

Scarred tried and failed to muffle his new bout of laughter.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Voldemort."

"Happy Christmas, Scarred."

* * *

 **Happy holidays! This is a side story to Equilibrium-not exactly fanon compliant, but that's only because I hecked up the timelines in order to fit this in lol. Generally speaking, it takes place _before_ Gryffindor's Sword has been stolen (so before the prologue).**

 **I usually don't write seasonal stuff because I'm really bad with due dates, but mistletoe event needed to be done somehow someway, so here it is (and a really small portion of the fic too, but).**

 **So Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year, everyone!**

 **Sincerely,**

 **R.R.**


End file.
